


The Seemingly Impossible Task of Wooing Ginevra Weasley

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-War, Win The Girl, Wooing, alcohol use, canon ships, five times trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26699104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: The five times Harry tries to win Ginny back, and the one time she lets him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/gifts).



> Happy birthday, mcal! For all the wonderful things you’ve done for me this year, including cheerleading the innumerable projects I’ve had on the run, I wanted to say thank you and wish you a year filled with warmth, comfort, and joy. Happy birthday, my friend!

“I don’t know what made you think you could just walk in here like nothing happened.” Wisps of ginger hair crackled around Ginny’s shoulders. Her finger jammed mercilessly into Harry’s chest. “But I’m not your Screaming Yo-yo, Potter.”

“That isn’t—” Harry shoved a shaky hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath through pink, puffed cheeks. “Ginny, I don’t think you’re a—a yo-yo. I just—”

Her eyes narrowed, and somehow her finger became harder against his sternum. “You just thought that you could ignore me for five years, then ditch me when things got hard, and that I’d be waiting here for you with open arms. I’m  _ not _ that lovesick girl anymore. The sun doesn’t shine out your arse.”

Deflated, Harry sighed and rested his hands on his hips. “I know the sun doesn’t shine from my arse. I just thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Ginny’s chin wobbled and she stole a steadying breath. “You’re going to be here because Ron lives here. But please, give me space.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she silenced him quickly with a glare. That was the end of that, and the reunion Harry has most looked forward to.

A solid, freckled hand clamped over his shoulder. He turned his cheek to find Ron standing beside him. A look of pity crossed his best mate’s face. “C’mon, mate. Hermione wants to debrief.”

Harry turned back to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but the fiery redhead was already stomping back into the Burrow.

Wasn’t the hero supposed to get the girl?

Harry sighed, running a hand through his too-long hair and ground his molars. “Yeah, alright.”

Hermione didn’t make things any better.

“Well, you’re going about it all wrong, aren’t you?”

Harry loved Hermione dearly—like a sister, even. But, that condescending tone of hers was beginning to grate on every one of his nerves. Grinding his teeth together, Harry exhaled sharply through his nose and busied his hands by plucking at frayed fabric on his jeans. He couldn’t meet her eyes, lest she’d see the impossible annoyance dancing behind them.

Ron came to his defense, thankfully. “What more could she possibly want? The bloke won a bloody war for her.”

A derisive laugh—the one that typically meant Hermione was about to go on some noble tirade of superiority—filled the small space of Ron’s cramped bedroom. “Harry didn’t win a war for  _ Ginny _ . He won the war for everyone.”

“Including Ginny,” Ron reasoned softly.

“Yes,  _ including _ Ginny, but not  _ for _ Ginny.” Hermione snapped her thick, leather-bound journal closed and sighed. “The bottom line is that you’ve hurt her, Harry. You left her when things got hard and she has no guarantee you won’t do it again. And—”

“Oi!” Harry stood, posture rigid, and scowled. “I left her for her own safety! She would have been a target if they knew she was my girlfriend.”

Hermione’s eyes softened, her lips tugging down at the corners. “They assumed she was your girlfriend anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded, suddenly feeling all the fight leave his body.

“It means that Ginny learned very quickly how to defend herself against the Death Eater regime at Hogwarts, and that regardless of your relationship status, things were never sunshine and roses for her there. Look.” Standing from Ron’s messy bed, Hermione placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If you want to win her back, you’re going to need to prove to her that you won’t just leave her the second things get hard.”

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but was silenced by the way Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and twisted their fingers together. His two best friends were something else entirely now. It made him ache, for the things he gave up, for the things they discovered, for the things he never knew he wanted as badly as he did. For leaving Ginny, for losing her before he was ever able to tell her just how deeply he was in love with her.

Without a word, Harry sat down cross legged on the floor and held his face in his hands. If anyone could help him win back Ginevra Weasley, it was her favorite brother and her best friend.

“Alright,” he said finally, waving a hand vaguely to invite Hermione to retake her seat. “What do you suggest then?”

* * *

Nothing was as soothing as Quidditch.

Sure, they weren’t on a fancy pitch, and the teams weren’t evenly matched, and Harry was fairly certain the broom he currently sat atop was from the seventies. But, there was very little in the world that provided such a freeing feeling inside his soul. As he whooshed through the skies, chasing after the golden Snitch, his eyes snagged on a blur of red hair. It could have been any one of the Weasleys, but the scent of honey wafted off her as she sped by.

He very nearly slipped off his broom with his sheer pining of her.

When the Snitch zoomed past his ear, he waited too long to chase after it. Long gone was his attention to the game. It fastened on her petite waist, the way her hand curled around her Nimbus Ninety Five, and her protectiveness with her arm wound the Quaffle.

“Merlin’s balls, Potter,” Bill Weasley, a tree of a man, swore as he hammered a Bludger away from Harry. “You’re harder to keep alive on the pitch than you were traipsing through a forest during the war.”

A massive smile overtook Bill’s face as Harry waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all now—running off after Patronuses and jumping to my frozen doom. Yadda yadda. Oi, watch the Bludgers, would you?”

“Sorry. I’m not the professional player in the family,” Bill said, speeding off towards the Bludgers on a trajectory towards Charlie.”

Harry grumbled and scanned the small field for his golden trophy. Fleur hadn’t seemed to spot it yet, either, which allowed him a moment to breathe. His eyes drifted towards Ginny, who was rounding the single hoop guarded by Ron.

Hermione had been clear that he should give her space, and only approach her in ways that wouldn’t overwhelm her or seem expectant. Perhaps if he tried to chat her up about Quidditch, he’d be successful. It was something they had in common; he could remind her that they bonded over Quidditch back in their Hogwarts days.

He desperately tried to stop himself from remembering the other things they’d done in their Hogwarts days. In fact, he’d gone to get that dragon tattoo not long after the rebuilding efforts were completed. Then, when he’d shown her, well… the blush on her cheeks as she wound her gaze around his torso was lovely.

But, when she fled from the room with a soft curse, the sting of the needle to his ribcage returned. And, he had to promise Hermione he wouldn’t go around flashing his ‘impressive but unwelcome’ abs.

How the hell was he supposed to know how to woo a witch? It wasn’t as if he spent his life watching how other people fell in love, and he had no role models at home. It was a bit demoralizing to tell Ginny how he felt only to have her run off and refuse to talk to him.

As he was lost in the sea of his thoughts, Ginny zoomed by again. This time, he chased her as if he were chasing the Snitch. With the faintest pressure applied to his broom, he came up beside her with a wide grin on his face.

“Fun, isn’t it?” he hedged, raking his fingers through his already windswept hair.

Ginny’s eyes met his and her nose twitched. “Yes,” she answered slowly, “It usually is.”

Heaviness sat on his chest, but he pushed through it with a cheerful, “Right, tickety-boo.”

And felt like a proper arse as she raised a delicate eyebrow. Their moment was broken, his chance to delve deeper into conversation stolen, as the Quaffle soared into her arms, sending her racing the opposite way down the field.

“This is painful to watch, mate.” Ron pulled up beside him, looking green on his behalf. “Have you tried just… letting her come to you?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, Harry frowned. “You think that’ll work?”

Ron shrugged. “Anything’s better than using the phrase ‘tickety-boo’ when you’re trying to woo your ex.”

“Bugger, bollocks, and shit,” he hissed to no one, wanting nothing more than to fly his broom into the nearest pond.


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s been thirteen days.” Cradling his half-empty pint in his hands, Harry put his chin to his chest and sighed. “This ‘letting her come to me’ lark isn’t working.”

Ron’s large hand settled on his shoulder. “All you’ve done for thirteen days is hole yourself in Grimmauld and moan about her not coming to you.” Harry raised his head, eyes narrowed into slivers. “Oi, don’t get huffy with me, mate. All I’m saying is it’s a bit pathetic, all this moping and whinging.”

“Thanks,” Harry answered shortly, a humorless laugh fogging the pint bottle. “How’s she supposed to know I’m still interested if I don’t tell her?”

“Well that’s your problem, isn’t it?” Hermione’s condescending voice interrupted the moment as she threw herself into the seat opposite Harry. “You’re doing it wrong, Harry. Telling her means nothing. You have to  _ show  _ her.”

Harry thwapped his head against the solid wood table. “How exactly do I show her when I’m supposed to be staying away from her?” he mumbled against the table top.

Hoisting Harry into an upright position, Ron’s fingers loosened from his shoulder only when he was sure Harry wouldn’t let his head fall back to the table again. “Just listen to Hermione. You know she’s always right about these things.”

Alright; he had a point. Hermione was likely the best person to help him make sense of the situation and get Ginny back. Finally making eye contact with her, Harry nodded. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Situating herself in much the same way he’d watched McGonagall sit behind her desk, with a penetrating stare and pinched lips, Hermione flatted her hands against the table and leaned ever so slightly forward. “Well, she’s not just going to come to you; you’re going to have to give her a reason, of course.”

Heaviness settled in Harry’s chest. Trying to woo Ginny was beginning to feel like a puzzle with pieces from a hundred different boxes and no photo reference. “I thought I was supposed to let her come to me?”

“Well yes,” she agreed, as if he were mad for questioning it. “But, you need to facilitate it, Harry. We’ll host a party here at Grimmauld, and I’ll invite Ginny.”

“A party?” His stomach somersaulted; he hated parties. “I don’t know, Hermione…”

As if she didn’t hear his unease, Hermione continued. “She needs to see you as Harry again, and not The Boy Who Lived or her former boyfriend that ditched her—”

“Hey!”

“Too low, Hermione.”

Shrugging, Hermione settled back against her chair. “You’ll never win her back if you refuse to acknowledge that you did, in fact, ditch her.”

Harry rubbed his temples. It was useless arguing with her, but the unease he’d felt turned into a weight in the pit of his stomach. Would he have done anything differently, knowing he’d pay for his decision by losing Ginny forever?

No.

Somehow that provided a semblance of clarity. He owned that decision, felt it was right down to his marrow; wouldn’t have been able to live with any other choice.

“So, we invite Ginny to a completely made up party so that she can see me as Harry and not the git who ditched her. Right.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and raised a pointed brow. “And then what?”

The little curve to Hermione’s lips should have made him nervous, but he knew that smirk, knew that it meant she had a cunning plan, the likes of which had always gotten Harry out of sticky situations in the past.

“Well,” she said, sparing Ron a glance. “You’ll need insider information, of course…”

* * *

  
There was nothing quite so hard as sitting across the room from the most beautiful girl in existence and forcing himself to pretend she wasn’t there. Why had Hermione thought this would work? And why was Lee Jordan sidled up beside Ginny with his arm around her shoulders? Harry felt himself grow more agitated the longer the night went on and the closer Lee maneuvered himself to her.

Leg bouncing. Fingers tapping. Blood thrumming. Harry sucked his lips between his teeth and bit down until he was sure he wouldn’t try and break up their cozy little rendezvous.

A gangly body flung next to Harry. His face wore a toothy grin, and his hazel eyes seemed to say a lot of things that weren’t the “Hey, Harry” greeting he proffered.

“Alright, Neville?” Harry’s tense body relaxed slightly as Neville shoved a bottle into his hand. “Thanks for coming. How’s your gran?”

The smile on Neville’s face fell slightly and his eyes jumped around the room. If Harry didn't’ know better, he’d think his friend was worried Augusta was within listening range. “She’s fine. Currently trying to talk me out of an apprenticeship with Professor Sprout. Don’t think she figured McGonagall would call ‘round, though.” He smirked around the lip of his drink. “Been staying at Seamus’ ever since.”

Chatting with Neville helped Harry keep his focus away from Ginny, but just barely. Every twitch of her hand, full-bodied laugh, or tousle of her hair, and Harry’s eyes would drift to take stock of her. The sharp curve of her jaw, the freckles that painted her lovely face, and her beaming smile that somehow, despite its brilliance, always felt as if it were for him. Not once had he caught her eye, but every so often the hairs at the nape of his neck would raise. Instinctively, he’d dart his gaze to her but find her staring resolutely elsewhere.

It came as a shock that, at the end of the night as folks were Flooing home, Ginny perched herself next to him on the sofa. She tucked her feet underneath her, pulled her long hair back into an elastic, and proffered a bottle to Harry with a genuine smile on her face. Harry stared resolutely at the bottle, not wanting to scare her away. If he looked her in the eyes, surely she’d see all his ridiculous pining shining back at her.

“Fun party,” she said after a long stretch of silence.

Watching her thumb pick away at the soggy label of the bottle, Harry nodded with a jerky movement. “I’ve never been one for parties, but it seemed like a good idea.”

“Me neither, actually.” She took a swig of her drink. “When you grow up with Fred and George, you tend to avoid any place that serves a buffet.”

A real, honest-to-Merlin laugh broke through his lips. “Right, yeah, that’s how we decided on no food tonight. No punch, either.”

She chuckled, shifting her body closer to his. “Last time I had punch around the twins, my freckles turned purple.”

The night carried on as they talked about the twins and growing up with all her brothers. Harry was most surprised to discover Ginny had a soft spot for Percy, though she said she would never tell him, lest it go ‘right to his pompous, big head.’ Once or twice, Harry thought Ginny was going to reach for his hand, only to pull it back and toy with her hair or her beer.

He was glad for it, though. The little bit of distance. It allowed him to really focus on her, and learn things he hadn’t before. Like, how Arithmancy was her favorite subject, and that her dad would take her to his shed and teach her all about Muggle cars.

“I don’t think he really knew how they worked though,” she confessed with a light stain of read on the apples of her cheeks. “But, he did show me how to change a tire.”

“That’s more than I know.” Harry shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and grinned when she scoffed as if she didn’t believe him. “No, really. The Dursleys hardly allowed me  _ in  _ the car, let alone teaching me how to use it.”

“I’m sure if you asked Dad, he’d show you.”

“After the Anglia incident?” A brow arched high over one eye. “I think I’ll take public transport or use magic.”

“Always knew you were a smart bloke, Potter.”

The playful sparkle in her eyes threw his heart into a rapid beat. He tried not to jump forward, take her cheeks in his hands, and kiss her until she finally understood just how much he bloody loved her. But that wasn’t the plan; that would ruin everything. Instead, Harry forced a small smile and sipped his beer.

“How’s Quidditch training going?” He opted for a safe subject, a familiar one.

“It’s good. Exhausting, but the girls are wicked.”

They talked for what felt like hours. It began to feel like torture not to touch her, not to flirt with her. To just be Harry, her brother’s best mate.

He was actually grateful when Ron came into the room, and Ginny said goodnight.

* * *

  
  


Finding himself in the company of Ginny Weasley was much easier when he wasn’t trying than when he was. All the Weasley children were gathered together at The Leaky Cauldron to celebrate George’s grand opening of the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. They were gracious enough to pass him an invitation. Rather,  _ Ginny _ had invited him through Hermione.

That was how Harry found himself wedged between Lee and Ron. If he’d arrived just ten minutes earlier, he’d have a seat next to Ginny. Somehow he’d have to make it work. Perhaps he could get her alone at the end of the night. Walk her to the Floo. Maybe spend some time with her at the Burrow one-on-one.

He’d figure it out.

“You’re staring,” Hermione whispered, pretending to rifle through her handbag for something.

“She looks lovely,” he said, as if desperate to tell her.

Hermione seemed to know his train of thought. Her hand curled on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Just try to have a good time. Maybe throw darts with Ron?”

He responded with nothing more than a huff, and stretched his neck until it popped. The longer he sat, the harder his molars ground together. He’d end up with a chipped tooth if he didn’t find some way to stop staring at Lee’s hand creeping closer to Ginny.

“You’re so high strung tonight, Harry!” Lee leaned into him, a brilliant sparkling smile on his face. “Need to relax, mate. It’s the weekend. Lots to celebrate.”

“Hear, hear!” George lifted his pint, sloshing its contents down the chilled glass. “A round for my friends, Tom!”

Harry wasn’t much of a drinker. He could have a pint here and there with his friends, but he just preferred to keep his wits about him. Something about Lee’s jibe and Hermione’s worried words played with his mind, though. If he couldn’t relax, if he looked about to jump out of his skin, would it put Ginny off? Would she notice that he really only had eyes for her? Despite his support of the Weasleys’ business venture, only one person held his attention in such a captive way.

So, Harry drank.

Anything that was put in front of him was tossed back without care. He lost track of how much he imbibed, and then wondered if he’d learned the world imbibed from Hermione, and that imbibed was a silly word when one said it enough, and he was certain he’d told Ginny just how strange a word it felt when he repeated it to her in various tones and speeds.

As the night went on, Harry’s vision became fuzzier. Even better, his concerns over how he was going to win Ginny over seemed to disappear. He sat with her, laughing and telling jokes, taking the spotlight away from Lee, who went off to play darts with Ron.

It was getting hot in the Leaky, though. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. The warmth seemed inescapable. He rolled his sleeves to the elbow, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Still, it felt as if someone had lit Fiendfyre under his arse.

“You don’t look so good, Harry,” Ginny said to him, her hand finding his on the table.

Merlin, she just fit there so well. Her skin was cool to the touch, and smooth. Soothing. He turned his hand palm up and slotted their fingers together.

“Feel fine, thanks,” he muttered through lips that felt too big for his face. “You’ve got really nice hands.”

She laughed, and pulled her hand from his. “I think maybe you should go home; would you like me to get you to the Floo?”

Harry’s face broke into a ridiculous-sized grin. “You want to come home with me?”

“Oh, bollocks,” Harry barely registered Hermione’s voice.

And then Ron, who sounded stressed. “Hermione, you were supposed to watch him.”

“I’m sorry, Ron. He just sort of… grabbed whatever was in front of him, and I’m sure George ordered the refillable tumblers.”

But none of that really mattered. What mattered was that Ginny wanted to take him home, and he’d be mad not to accept.

Standing from the table, rattling glasses around in his wobbly haste, Harry stared down at Ginny with all the earnest hope he could muster. “I’d be well chuffed if you came home with me, Gin.”

“Harry.” Ginny sighed, and it didn’t sound like the same voice she’d been using with him only moments ago. “Let’s get you to the Floo.”

They stumbled towards the Floo. Harry’s arms wrapped clumsily around Ginny’s waist, and her slender frame barely holding the added weight he put upon her. It didn’t matter though. This turned into the best night ever. Perhaps he’d always looked at drinking the wrong way. It really helped to loosen him up. And now he’d get to go home with Ginny.

Ginny’s hands left him as she reached for the Floo powder. “Do you think you can enunciate?”

“Grimmauld Place,” he said proudly, punctuating it with a smile.

“Oh Harry.” A chuckle left her as Ginny reached up with her non-powdered hand, and pushed the sodden fringe from his forehead. “You’re utterly pissed. Do you even know what you just said?”

“Grimmauld Place.”

“And where exactly do you think you’ll show up if you Floo to the ‘grim old place’?”

Harry shrugged. “Poh-tay-toh, pah-tah-toh.”

Hoisting him against her shoulder, Ginny stood in the Floo with Harry, dropped the powder, and clearly enunciated, “Grimmauld Place.”

The very moment the world stopped spinning, Harry tumbled with Ginny from the fireplace and promptly threw up at their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued birthday love to mcal, though I'm over a month late in updating. The last chapter will be up soon! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Woooo, it's been about 15 years since I've written the Harry/Ginny ship! Returning to it is filled with nostalgia, as I met Mr Frump through an old Harry/Ginny archive where my fics were posted all those years ago. It's so fun to return to my fanfic roots, and when mcal prompted me with a few ship choices, I knew it had to be H/G right away. I hope you enjoy this little three shot fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it!


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